Classic Serrano
by mille libri
Summary: Greg's thoughts as he drinks away the night at Jayma's wedding.


Greg sat at the bar, nursing his drink. He was alone. Alone at last. Alone again, naturally. Being alone had made some sort of sense back at the beginning of the night, but he couldn't remember what it had been now. Shouldn't he be with Rebecca? He wanted to be with Rebecca.

But Rebecca wanted to be with Josh. And Josh, for all his protests and all his Valencia, wanted to be with Rebecca. They were the ones who had always been meant to be together. Look at everything Rebecca had done, all the lies she had told, to be with Josh. Greg had believed for a while that all that was over, that she was with him now because she wanted to be … but he was a fool. Had been a fool. Wouldn't be a fool anymore. No. He lifted the glass to his lips, taking a long swallow, feeling the familiar, comforting burn of it going down his throat. Definitely not a fool anymore, that was for sure.

Then Rebecca came up next to him and his heart started playing a drum solo in his chest, proving that he was just as much of a fool as he had always been.

"Hey," she said. "Hey. I want to talk to you."

This couldn't be good. It must be about Josh. Josh and his little wheeled carpet stupid thing. Like anyone was supposed to believe those things were flying.

Greg blinked at Rebecca, who was pulling out a chair and sitting down.

"So …" She smiled, awkwardly, as she sat. "This night's gotten pretty off track."

That was true. Off track. Greg wasn't even sure what track he had meant to be on—he was playing it cool, wasn't he? But something hadn't been working there, which was why he was here, drinking alone, except with Rebecca.

She leaned forward toward him. "This isn't us!" she said. "This isn't how we are. And—and I think it's my fault."

Was it? Greg had kind of thought it was his fault. Or maybe Josh's. He didn't know. But it couldn't be Rebecca's fault, because then—everything in the past few weeks that had made him so happy wasn't real. Which was why he was drinking, so if it wasn't real, it wouldn't hurt.

"Yeah," she said when he didn't respond. "Because … I had an artificial view of how I wanted this night to go."

Greg interrupted her. "No." She looked at him expectantly. "'S my fault. 'S my fault, 's my fault. I should not …" What shouldn't he have done? So many things. He remembered watching her come down the stairs, so beautiful, dressed up for him, and feeling like an idiot for dressing down in order to be cool. "Have worn sneakers tonight. Justin Timberlake wore sneakers with a suit and I thought it was cool, but I'm no ." Some perennially sober part of him facepalmed. What was he even saying right now? ? Who said that?

A smile lit Rebecca's face. "You're hilariously wasted."

He stopped her, sure now of what she had come to say. It had to be about Josh. Had to be. Flowers were better than balloons, right? All the commercials said so. "I know what you want to say to me. You want to break up with me."

Rebecca stared at him, clearly confused, even to his fuzzed mind. "Break up with you?" she repeated. "No! Greg—okay, listen. This, like … this emotion stuff can be scary. My parents split up when I was little, your mom left, we don't have the greatest role models here. But … there's been something I've been wanting to tell you all night, and … even though it scares me to death, I'm gonna be brave."

He had lost the thread entirely now. She didn't want to break up, but she was scared? What was so scary about not breaking up?

Oh. Maybe that was why he had started drinking tonight, because not breaking up was scary. Yeah, he thought he remembered that now. Or maybe it had been the way Josh had looked at her, and not being sure if he really believed she wanted to be with him. One of those. At least, he thought so.

Oblivious to his confused and tortured thoughts, Rebecca went on. "So … even though we've only been seeing each other for a short time, I, um … I care about you."

She did? Greg felt a warmth all the way down to his toes. Different from the warmth he felt when he drank too much and peed himself; different from the warmth he felt when the first drink spread through him. This was … gooey. Melty. Like a warm cookie.

"Like, a lot," Rebecca continued. She was waiting for him to say something. What should he say? What could he say?

He didn't know what to say. He wanted to tell her that she meant everything to him, that he'd never been so happy as he was with her, that lying in bed playing Words with Friends with her was the best time he'd ever had, and he wanted to do it again. A lot. All the time.

But he was afraid that if he did that, it would all go wrong. The way everything always all went wrong.

Over her head, he saw Josh, sitting in a corner of the room talking to someone. Talking to someone, but watching Rebecca. Josh loved Rebecca. He didn't know it yet, but he did. And Rebecca loved Josh. She had forgotten about that, momentarily, but she would remember eventually, and that would break his heart. Better to break his own heart, right now, and leave only a small bruise on hers, than to wait for her to do it, Greg told himself. Much better. Much safer.

When he didn't respond, she leaned closer, saying earnestly, "So … tell me—tell me how you feel. If you have any feelings, and—I don't care how you tell me, Greg, I don't care if you fart while you're saying it. Just please tell me."

He wanted to. He couldn't. He had to. But … it would only hurt more later. And he was afraid of things that hurt more later. He drank to avoid and forget the kind of things that hurt more later.

Rebecca was waiting for him to speak up, growing increasingly impatient. It wasn't nice of him to make her wait; she deserved better. She deserved the truth, but he was too far gone for that. "Okay," he said at last. "I think …" It wasn't too late; he could still tell her how he felt. But—it was too late. He couldn't tell her. He smiled at her. "You're cool."

She was taken aback. "You—" Her beautiful eyes studied him for a minute, then she shook her head as if to get it back on straight. "Sorry, after everything we've been through you just—you just think I'm cool?"

He was committed to this now, so he carried it on. "Yeah. I think we have fun together, yeah, but let's not, like, plan out our future." He heard himself saying it, even as his heart twisted inside him. This was for her, he reminded himself, and a little bit for him. "Let just focus on, um …" He'd lost the thread. What was he saying? Oh, yes. "On tonight, and have fun, okay?"

She didn't understand; it was clear from her face, frozen and disappointed and unhappy. "Wait, what?"

A wave of weariness hit Greg, the intense need to close his eyes … and not just so he wouldn't have to see how much he had hurt her. "But right now I, um, I need to take a—I need to take a nap." He put his head down on his arms, closing his eyes, feeling the waves of sleep waft him far away from here and away from the embarrassment and the longing and the pain and the jealousy …

Dimly, he heard Rebecca's voice calling his name, felt her poking and shaking his arm, and then from nowhere came the familiar voice and familiar big hands of White Josh. "Ah, yes, the classic Serrano pass-out."

He was a classic, Greg thought before oblivion took him. Classic Serrano. That's what this whole night had been.


End file.
